


I'm the King and you're the Queen / and we will stumble through Heaven

by charleybradburies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Authority Figures, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Clothed Sex, Clothing Kink, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom Steve Rogers, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, Implied Relationships, In Public, Inspired By Tumblr, Kink Shaming, Light Dom/sub, Natasha Romanov-centric, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Male Character, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Public Sex, SHIELD, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Spanking, Spies & Secret Agents, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Sub Natasha Romanov, Team Dynamics, Teasing, Tropes, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Weapons, Weapons Kink, he's totally not allowed to bang his girlfriend on fury's desk while nick's away so, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:58:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://endgamedanielcarter.tumblr.com/post/137765327125/brutusfeels-haberdashing-ofshxeld-my">Prompt</a>: (link is to slightly older version but url of the blog is static so) </p><p><b>OP: </b><br/>MY FAVOURITE trope is the<br/>“leave all your weapons”<br/>*takes out far more weapons than expected (or logically able to carry)* </p><p><b>COMMENTER 1:</b><br/>and then<br/>“i said ALL of them”<br/>*takes out a dozen more weapons from increasingly improbable locations*</p><p><b>COMMENTER 2: </b><br/>And then<br/>*stern look*<br/>*pulls out one more tiny pistol*</p><hr/><p>The above scenario, Romanogers style, as prompted by Tumblr user mintlemonade323.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm the King and you're the Queen / and we will stumble through Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> So, regardless of the fact that I don't (actively? I greatly prefer them as friends lol??) ship Romanogers, I saw an awesome prompt that someone wanted written with them and I went 'okay, I can just write it gen and then add some romancey stuffs' and yeah, you'll see from the Explicit rating that that clearly isn't what ended up happening.
> 
> Anyway. I digress.
> 
> Title from Halsey's "Young God."
> 
> Also: no actual daddy!kink but if it super squicks you out idk. Nat teases Steve about being 'old,' things are mentioned, they are dorks.

Steve’s straightening his tie and wondering what forethought Fury had that he had a mirror put in his office when Nat finally arrives, dressed to the nines. Steve slides back behind the desk - half in an attempt to physically distance himself and half in an attempt to reiterate that he was, for SHIELD’s intents and purposes, calling the shots.

She’s clearly amused watching him push his voice lower. His hands are already resting on his hips, but he grips them a little tighter, helping him keep himself standing in place behind Fury’s - his...desk. He was supposed to be in charge, after all.

“Okay, Nat, I’m serious. It’s too important that we get this absolutely right the first time. _Nothing_ on your person that can be construed or used as a weapon tonight. Other than, well, you, of course.”

She raises up one of her arms into a pose of consideration, picking at her pristine maroon fingernails; he notices the one that had broken a couple days ago, since it’s a good bit shorter than the others.

“Are we counting spandex...Captain?” 

Nat looks over to him now, meeting his eyes with half a smirk and a rising brow.

 _If only,_ Steve thinks to himself, returning her expression with one that’s less amused. Not that she really treated him like an authority figure no matter what kind of expression he gave her. 

“Hand your weapons over, Nat. _All_ of them.”

She doesn’t actually roll her eyes, but he knows her well enough to tell that she considers it. She does, however, keep eye contact as she gives herself the pat down he’s - to some extent - trusting her to give. He knows that with warning she’d probably have let Steve do it himself, but in all honesty he was pretty sure that the last thing he needed to be doing right now was running his hands all over Nat’s body. Sitting down at the desk he at least has a better chance at both, or either, maintaining his composure, or concealing his inevitable erection. 

Stiletto knives in the heels of her black shoes: one, two.

An ankle bracelet of mini smoke bombs disguised as rubies, designed to detonate when thrown against a hard surface: three, four, five, six, seven.

A small pistol in a garter holster on her right thigh, and a knife immediately next to it: eight, nine.

A necklace with a tracker that she could click if something went awry, which would tell Jarvis precisely where they were, signal to Tony that backup was needed, and then, ten seconds after being pressed again and presumably thrown, self-destruct: ten.

Semi-automatic in a garter holster on her left thigh: eleven.

She slides her hands to the hem of her dress and straightens it, but she barely even changes her expression when Steve gives her an even more sceptical look.

Not good enough.

“I said _all_ of them, Nat.”

She almost seems surprised that he asks again.

Almost.

Rope with a remote-activated electric charge, inside a belt loop type of contraption around the underwire of her bra: twelve.

He doesn’t want to know how she’d expect to use that. He preferred to believe she lived up to the legend that she was, but not the name she’d been given. 

Instead of just setting it on the desk she holds her hand out, letting the rope drop down from her palm and swing about. 

“So, would _you_ rather check yourself? Captain?”

“When you say it like that it almost sounds like you’re asking me to.”

“That’s _not_ an answer, Captain.”

“Will you stop - _stop_ calling me Captain. You only call me Captain when you want something from me.”

“Don’t I _always_ want something from you?”

Steve just barely manages to keep himself from laughing at Natasha’s tinted bluntness, and settles for setting an elbow atop the desk and leaning his head into it; she’s pressing her lips around her tongue when he meets her eyes again, like she was waiting to wet them.

He takes that back. She was waiting to wet them.

And chances are, more than just her lips. 

“Where is it?” he asks flatly, hoping he’s on the right track. Natasha grins.

“If you find it, you can keep it.”

_Goddammit._

“Agent Romanoff, are you propositioning me?”

Nat scoffs. “To imagine you think you have to ask.”

Steve sets his jaw as harshly as he can, and gives himself half a second to glance over at the digital clock in the wall.

A little more than thirty minutes until they had to be in a limo heading out to this auction to buy back stolen SHIELD property. 

He swings the chair side to side a bit, only his peripheral vision focused on Nat until he sees her - knowingly or not - give the telltale tightening of her body from her hips down, which was all he could see from the other side of her dress but meant she was clenching up. He wasn’t exactly sure what the muscles were called, but he did know that she liked using them to hold a cock tighter inside her. So while he doesn’t know exactly what she’s been thinking about, he’s pretty sure she’s only mentioning it because she’s wet.

Well, the last thing he needed as a SHIELD operative was a distracted partner, let alone one by whom he so easily could find himself distracted.

It was a shitty excuse, but it was going to have to do. 

He pushes himself up with the arms of the chair and walks around the desk, sitting back against it with his arms crossed, right in front of where Nat’s standing.

“You are allowed to say please, you know.”

Nat grimaces, not letting a second go to waste before reaching the inch or so forward and jamming her hand down his pants, not even bothering to use the first hand to undo anything before it’s warmly wrapped around his length, letting her other handle that as she, well, handles _him_.

She tilts her head upwards, and Steve does the opposite, but doesn’t bend at all, since he’s only that little bit taller than her. 

He is the boss right now, after all. He may as well make her work for _something._

“But that’s so much less fun, Steven,” she pouts, and clasps his lips in a wet kiss as she finishes with his belt and trousers and throws them down to the floor. His fingers are left wanting for something, but as much as he enjoys legitimately _kissing_ , Steve knows better than to grab onto her now, knowing that kissing is miles away from what Nat’s focused on. And predictably, it can’t be more than a couple seconds before she’s done with that and squatting down. She does swirl her tongue around at the tip of his cock, smirking as she tastes his precum and indulges a little more of the slowness that’s closer to his style, but before long she’s gagging herself on him balls-deep. He gives her a moment before twining his fingers in her hair - short, now, shorter than usual and a different, darker red already since the last time they did this but still beautiful….even more beautiful, naturally, when she’s smiling up at him and sucking him off.

That was probably evolutionary.

He makes a mental note _not_ to bring it up as he leans his head back and answers her with some thrusting; she only lets him do it a few times, and then slows both their rhythms to halts, slowly dragging her lips all the way down his shaft until she can bob them around and off of the head of his cock in a motion sort of like pursing them but seemingly different at the same time. For a second he’s surprised as well as worried that perhaps he’s been too much, too rough, too _something_ , but then he sees her eyes dart around the room.

“Twenty minutes,” she says; then, realizing her voice was flatter than she might have hoped, she straightens her legs and stands up, and leans into his arms to whisper in his ear. 

“I want you to fuck me before we go...Captain Rogers.”

“That so, Agent Romanoff?”

“And I want you to come inside me, too.”

“Now, that’s not complimentary,” Steve declares, only half teasing.

“And what if I say please?” she says, turning her voice into a whine right next to his ear. Before she moves away he slides a hand up her body, and she bites her lip when he clasps it around her neck, a curious and aroused spark in her eyes when he pushes her the slightest bit away from him to look her dead on.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight, Natasha. Will you do that for me?” 

They aren’t words that feel quite right to him, not out of his mouth, but Nat’s asked for them before, and even with the ‘tsk-tsk’ and the soft smirk with which she replies, almost like she’s asking him if he’s kidding her, there’s still a desirous shine to her expression.

She does nod, though, and he arches an arm all the way around her, roaming down her ass until his fingers are touching the hem of the dress and pulls it up - not all the way off, since he has nowhere near enough time to lavish attention on her so he might as well keep as much of her body out of sight as possible, but up over her ass.

Steve slides his hand back up to her hair, grabbing hold of it at the same time he pushes her to his side; he can see her grinning happily as she moves next to him, and she goes smoothly along with his motion as he pushes her head down towards the desktop, settling her forearms down on it and looking back to him as she pushes her ass back up and out. 

If she weren’t so into it, Steve might suggest they needed an even bigger change of pace. 

With her dress already out of the way, he has an easy time running his hand the whole way down her back until he’s stroking the top of the lace panties she’s got on. She pushes back against him, in the hope that he’ll move his fingers somewhere else in what she thinks to be a timely fashion...but they’ve long since established that Nat’s a little bit greedy.

After running a very gentle finger over her slit - wet enough that she’s dripping past the tiny panties and making Steve wonder how long she’d been steeping her desire this afternoon - he gives it a moan-eliciting smack. Still a happy one, the tone confirms, albeit one also of surprise. 

He stands up behind her, and again he smacks her, harder this time, and Nat whines.

She tenses up when he puts both his hands against her soon after, but he just gives her ass a couple squeezes until the way she tries to grind back against him, to really feel him, not just be felt up and played with, starts to get aggressive. 

That was one of Steve’s favorite things about Nat, at least in bed: how forcefully she _wanted._

He smacks her pussy again, if only to drive her a little crazier, then slides his arms around her hips so he can pull her back against his hardness; “what was that you wanted again?”

She manages to echo his teasing tone, a sign that she’s ready and everything’s in order: “Already forgot, Grandpa? I think you’d want to remember that I told you to fuck me.”

“Sorry, baby, my hearing’s not stellar, what was that?”

Natasha lets out a huff.

“Fuck me _please_ ,” she amends sarcastically. 

“Good girl.”

Natasha cuts short her own smile with a scoff, and then for a moment neither of them manage to keep a straight face, but as their laughter slows down Nat spreads her legs wider and exaggerates her bent position, turning her head back again to try to urge him to take the hint. 

Normally Steve would think of asking for more effort than some pouting, but he’s so damn hard and they don’t have enough time for him to keep teasing her; it’s even more rewarding to smoothly slide inside of her when she’s a little bit unprepared for it, because unadulterated Nat is a spectacular, beautiful Nat, and her gasps are almost as unadulterated as she gets.

_Almost._

Her small, sharp moans each time Steve bottoms out are glorious, and he’s honestly never quite as proud as when he’s got something like a dress to hold onto and can manage that on every single thrust. At first they’re accompanied by her hands clenching into fists, but eventually she just reaches back and holds his ass, doing what little she can to just keep him moving inside her slick pussy. 

Luckily, by the time her legs start to get unsteady, he already has a way to help her out by taking her weight off her own body. 

Neither of them are used to _that_ yet: Steve had been a virgin when he’d gone down with that plane in the 40s, and in the 21st century meeting women - or men, for that matter - with whom he meant to pursue romantic, let alone sexual, relationships, had never become a priority, so ways that his strength could benefit him or a partner were left to be discovered basically at random. 

And Nat wasn’t used to being with anyone who was stronger than she was, partly because she was particularly strong and partly because she’d never taken lovers that she really trusted before, so letting someone lift her was not something she was familiar with, but she doesn’t mind when Steve urges her up off the desk and wraps his arms tightly around her, holding her both up on her feet and immediately against him; she stretches her arms back up around his neck behind her, but save for the fact that her feet are still on the floor, all her weight is back against him. He has even easier leverage for rubbing her clit as he continues to push himself deep inside of her, and has to redirect his focus entirely away from himself to keep from finishing before Nat did. 

“What was that you said about me being a Grandpa? ” he teases when she starts slowing herself down. Her breathing quickly grows heavier, and that’s just confirmation of her overstimulation.

“Captain, I know you’re an older man, but I don’t care how many women say it, I’m not gonna call you Daddy,” she chuckles.

+

Switchblade sewn into the back of her bra: weapon thirteen.

They technically have two minutes left when he finds it, mostly by chance, just barely gracing his hand over something even he can tell is _definitely_ not a clasp. They’re too close at that moment for a look to mean much, so he steps back and looks down at her sternly, not even needing to give another order for Nat to roll her eyes and twist her bra around so she can pull the knife out of the strap and set it down in his hand. He puts it on the desk immediately, pulling the top of her dress over her shoulders and undoing the actual clasp of the bra which is apparently - and amusingly, to Nat, before Steve’s aware of it - in the front. She tilts her hair onto her left shoulder as he slips the bra back on and pulls her dress back up so it’s actually covering, well, what of her it had covered in the first place (which is to say, tantalizingly little.) 

He presses a kiss to her shoulder from behind her just as his phone vibrates in his pocket - Happy, summoning them to the door so they can be driven to their ‘date’.


End file.
